Let the Consequences
by mahc
Summary: All the hopes, all the preparation, gone, in just a matter of a few short hours. He had been so sure, so confident.


**Let the Consequences**

A _West Wing_ Story

By MAHC

POV: Leo

Spoilers: None (not really)

Rating: PG/K+

Disclaimer: Leo and Jed are the creations of Aaron Sorkin, not me. (Like you really wondered.)

"The world is not looking for servants – there are plenty of these – but for masters, men who form their purposes and then carry them out, let the consequences be what they may."

Woodrow Wilson

1907

Leo McGarry let his thumb hover over the remote control button just briefly before he pressed, watching as the television screen popped to black. The burden pushed on his chest, weighed down his shoulders. Grunting, he fell back against the chair, only the steady tick of a clock breaking the silence.

There it was then.

All the hopes, all the preparation, gone, in just a matter of a few short hours. He had been so sure, so confident. But things had scattered beyond his control – were always really beyond his control, although he hated to admit it. Jed had warned him about this, had told him it would happen; he hadn't believed him – couldn't believe him. But there it was – the disaster chronicled on TV for all to see.

Indulging in a moment of fantasy, he envisioned an escape of the consequences, pretending as if nothing had changed, as if the past hours had not occurred. But Leo McGarry was not one to shirk responsibility. He had walked into this with full knowledge of the possible – though, he thought, improbable – outcome. He had gambled and lost.

As much as it had seemed like a sure thing, he had to admit nothing was guaranteed. Maybe that's where they had gone wrong, where they had faltered. Too confident – an American trait, sometimes an asset, sometimes a liability.

He wondered briefly what Jed would say, how he would react – but only briefly. Although Jed Bartlet frequently surprised him, he was no mystery to his best friend. No, Leo knew what to expect – and he dreaded it. Despite their history, despite their loyalty, despite their common vision, despite all that, this was one thing – perhaps the only thing – that would not bow to Jed's natural compassion.

Leo had charted his course. He had run the race. Waiting would only make it harder.

He stared at the phone for a long, long moment, knowing he could not avoid the inevitable, could not defend his choice, except to stand by his heart. Finally, with a resigned sigh, he reached for the receiver and dialed the number that had become so familiar to him in the past eight years. There was no other way. As much as he yearned for it, there was no other way.

"Hello?" It was his direct line. No operator fielded the call, no last moment of mercy. Direct to _him_.

"Mister President?"

A long beat. He knew already, of course. Had probably been waiting for the ring. Finally, "Leo."

"How are you, sir?" Coward, he scolded himself. No amount of perfunctory courtesy would protect him from the ultimate consequences of his decision.

"Fine." Waiting.

"I was calling, sir, to – " He choked a bit as the bitter words attempted to form in his mouth. "I was – I was – oh, hell, you know why I was calling."

"I do." He wasn't going to give an inch, wasn't going to make it easy.

"I know you are aware of the situation, Mister President."

Another long beat. "I am."

Leo drew a deep breath. Just do it already. "You were – " Damn it. "You were – right."

Again, the President waited a beat before he spoke. "And?"

He had thought at least some mercy might be offered, some concession to their years of friendship. But there was none.

"Sir, I really don't – "

"Leo." The word was drawn out in that familiar way he had of pulling a sound almost into a tune.

No more delay. Nothing would intervene to save him. The moment had come. Tightening his eyes against the pain of his next move, Leo took braced himself.

"Notre Dame rocks – sir."

The tone changed immediately on the other end, a barely-contained glee bubbling across the optic fibers. "Seventeen to ten, Leo."

"Yes, sir."

"Oh for three in the red zone."

"Yes, sir." Take it like a man.

"Anything else you would like to say?"

No mercy.

"Michigan – Michigan – I can't say it, Mister President. I can't say Michigan – "

"Sucks, Leo. Michigan sucks. It's easy."

"Yes, sir."

He sighed again. There was always next year.

As I attended a collegiate football contest this past Saturday, the score of the Notre Dame-Michigan game came over the loudspeaker. My first thought was that Jed would certainly get a payoff of some kind from Leo. This is the bit of fun that came from that moment. Not my usual fare, since no one (mainly Jed) gets bombed or shot or has sex. But I hope you enjoy it anyway!


End file.
